


midnight bandages

by windupclock



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M, Minor Injuries, Pre-Relationship, i don't actually know anything about transformers. don't @ me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 07:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windupclock/pseuds/windupclock
Summary: Peter stumbles into the Baxter Building at midnight. Johnny thinks this is becoming a pattern.





	midnight bandages

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Peter jokes. His voice is strained, his skin grey, his grip on the windowsill tight enough to break something, but he smiles at Johnny like nothing’s wrong.

“What happened?” Johnny isn’t prepared for this – he’s in boxers and a faded Beach Boys shirt, for Christ’s sake, but he curls his hand around Peter’s shoulder to keep him steady. The mask is somewhere on the floor between them, and Peter’s bare face is a little disarming, so sue him. He’s wearing pajamas and Peter Parker is bleeding on his bedroom carpet. He might still be dreaming.

“Might have dislocated my shoulder, a little bit.” Peter’s smile slips, and he sags against Johnny a little, clearly exhausted. “Um, and I did get stabbed, technically, in a manner of speaking.”

Johnny raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “How do you get stabbed in a manner of speaking?”

“Well, does it really count as a stabbing if it’s only a tiny knife? No, right? I definitely read somewhere that it’s not a stabbing if the knife’s smaller than your pinky finger.” He holds up his hand and blinks at it. “Maybe your index finger. I’ll send you the link.”

“Where?”

“Corner of 56th and 7th.”

A long sigh. Johnny wants to put his head through the wall, just a little bit. “No, webhead, where on your body did you get stabbed? You might need stitches.”

“No stitches!” Peter yelps. “Really, I’m fine. It’s probably already started to close up, and if I get stitches, it’ll just – you know. Not be good. I promise I’ll be okay. I just maybe need something to stop the bleeding for a while.”

“And something to pop your shoulder back in its joint,” Johnny says grimly. “Okay, let’s deal with the arm first, and then I think I have bandages... somewhere around here. Probably.” He puts one hand on Peter’s left shoulder and the other just below his right. “I’m sure I don't need to tell you this, but this is gonna hurt like a motherfucker, okay? Just…” He grimaces. “Sorry.”

Peter nods, clenching his jaw, and Johnny pushes, careful and hard, throwing his back into it, and feels Peter’s shoulder pop back into place. Peter’s breath catches the edge of a gasp, but his face settles and he manages a smile. “Thanks,” he says, low.

“‘Course. I’m gonna find bandages, okay? Stay here. Don’t, like, fatally poison yourself while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” Peter says cheerfully.

There do turn out to be bandages in his bathroom, a nice roll of them tucked in the back of a cabinet behind more bottles of nail polish remover and coconut-scented shampoo than any human needs, and he carries his spoils and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide back with him. Peter’s still leaning against the window, and his skin is back to a healthier brown, so Johnny files that one away as a win. He needs to work this into his resume, somehow. Sue’ll know how.

“Right,” Johnny says, setting the supplies on the windowsill next to Peter. “Where is it?”

“Left thigh,” Peter says. “Uh, I gotta – you know.”

Johnny takes an awkward step back while Peter strips out of the suit and he tries concertedly not to stare. It’s just, you know – Spider-Man isn’t exactly lacking in the abs department, and Johnny has a regular front-row seat. Truly, he’s blessed.

There’s a gash in Peter’s thigh indeed, long enough to make Johnny suck in a breath but luckily shallow, and he makes quick work of cleaning it out, one hand on Peter’s other thigh to keep him steady. It’s nothing, he tells himself. Peter’s skin is warm and soft and he has absurdly nice thighs and all, but it’s nothing. He wraps a healthy amount of bandages around it and pulls it taut, admiring his handiwork. “Feel good?”

Peter gives a hum of approval, touching the bandage with energetic fingers. “Thanks, Torchy,” he says. He quirks his grin to the side.

“Yeah, yeah,” Johnny says, reaching up to ruffle Peter’s hair. Peter squirms away, laughing, and Johnny’s heart swoops a little. “Alright, do you need a change of clothes?”

“Huh?”

“Well, you’re staying the night, obviously. You can take my bed.”

“I’m not staying, Johnny, I have to go home,” Peter protests. “Thanks for helping me and all, but I don’t want Aunt May to worry, you know, and –”

“You got stabbed, Peter, you aren’t webslinging home,” Johnny says firmly. “Besides, I’d like to see you try to swing with that shoulder,” he adds with a snort, nodding at the bruising on Peter’s arm. Peter opens his mouth to argue, but then closes it again with a wince. “Text Aunt May if you need to, let her know you’re with a friend and you’ll be home tomorrow. She’ll be thrilled to know you have a friend.”

“I have _friends_ ,” Peter grouses, but he doesn’t complain about staying. Johnny grabs a worn pair of shorts and a tee shirt he thinks may have been Ben’s at some point, before he went huge and orange, and hands them to Peter.

“You’re probably going to, uh, need help with –” Johnny mimes pulling a shirt over his head, and Peter grins wide. Johnny blushes. “Shut up.”

He tries not to touch Peter too much as he helps him pull his shirt on, but he can’t help smelling him – not in a weird way, it’s just that Peter smells really good up close. _Really_ good. He kind of wants to hold Peter this close forever, sort out what each of the smells on his skin are, spandex and sweat and deodorant. He doesn’t, of course. He steps back once Peter has the shirt on, and Peter is looking at him with lidded eyes, his cheeks slightly flushed. Johnny decides to blame that one on the stab wound.

“Alright,” Johnny says. He clears his throat and takes another step back. “Um, do you wanna watch a movie?”

“Only if it’s Transformers, Johnny. Only if it’s Transformers.”

The shorts don’t quite cover the bandage wrapped around Peter’s thigh, and when he stands up Johnny can see a faint red stain spreading through it. “You good?” Johnny asks, reaching to grab Peter’s elbow.

“Trust me, Torchy, I’ve had worse,” Peter says, his smile steady. Johnny knows he’s not lying; he’s been there firsthand when Peter has had worse, but that doesn’t make it any better to see Peter in pain.

“Alright. Sick. Transformers time, then.”

“Transformers time!”


End file.
